


as the rains come

by Ias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard wears Thranduil's clothes, Caring Thranduil, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Morning After, Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Love, Thranduil watches Bard undress, Undressing, Wet Clothing, this is possibly the sappiest thing I've ever written and I regret nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My lord. I know the hour is late."</p>
<p>"It is very late," Thranduil agreed softly, "and the weather is foul, and the roads unsafe—all compelling reasons why you should not be standing before me now."</p>
<p>Bard's smile did not falter, but Thranduil saw a twinge of something painful in his eyes. "If you wish me to leave, you need only say so."</p>
<p>[[Written for the prompt "you turned up at my door sopping wet and I don't know what else to do".]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	as the rains come

It was late into the hours of the evening when the knock sounded on Thranduil's door.

He looked up from the trade agreements he had been perusing with mild surprise—he was rarely disturbed in his personal study, let alone so late. Though they were far underground, Thranduil could hear the faint lashing of the storm on the surface above. The rain had continued for all of the day, pounding relentlessly into the earth and turning the roads into treacherous mires. He had expected no visitors tonight. The intrusion could mean one of two things: that a serious matter required his attention, or that someone was going to wish they had reconsidered intruding on his solitude.

"Enter," he said calmly.

The door opened to reveal one of the guards, her usually smooth face creased with a frown. She stopped an appropriate distance away and bowed. A faint sheen of water shined on her hair and clothes—she must have spent a brief moment outside. "I apologize for the intrusion, Lord Thranduil. I'm afraid he couldn't be turned away."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And who might that be?"

The guard looked as if she was about to attempt an explanation, but stopped before she began. Instead, she turned to the open door behind her and gestured with a short motion. The figure that walked—or more accurately, shuffled—through the door with another guard on his elbow sent a thrill of quiet shock through Thranduil's heart.

His hair hung about his face in dripping tangles. His clothes were dark and heavy with water, hanging on his frame like shackles. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes dark with fatigue. Even from afar, Thranduil could see the shivers that wracked his frame. He could never recall Bard looking so wretched.

Immediately, he gestured his guards away. "Leave us." They padded out without a word, closing the door behind them. Thranduil rose as soon as they were gone, crossing the space around his desk to stand just before Bard. The man looked at him with a wry, damaged smile, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "My lord. I know the hour is late."

"It is very late," Thranduil agreed softly, "and the weather is foul, and the roads unsafe—all compelling reasons why you should not be standing before me now."

Bard's smile did not falter, but Thranduil saw a twinge of something painful in his eyes. "If you wish me to leave, you need only say so."

"You know that is not what I wish." Thranduil reached out to gingerly touch the sleeve of Bard's coat. The fabric was stiff and heavy with water. "You're soaked to the bone."

"It is a long day's ride from Dale to your kingdom."

"One which a man with more sense might have endeavored to make when a storm didn't threaten to wash him away." Thranduil looked at him hard. "What business brings you here so late, and in such haste? Did you bring none of your men with you?"

"I am alone." Bard paused, his eyes darting away. Whatever his purpose for being here, he was clearly hesitant to disclose it. Yet when he was not speaking Thranduil could hear the faint chatter of his teeth, see the way his arms hung stiffly at his sides to try and hide their trembling. Thranduil tightened his grip on Bard's arm and felt the muscle spasm under his grip.

"Later," he said as Bard began to speak. "You will catch your death if you remain in those clothes."

Bard looked ready to argue, but a warning look from Thranduil quelled any words of protest. Bard simply nodded, resigned, and allowed himself to be led to Thranduil's private chambers, trailing droplets of water in his wake. Thranduil walked slowly to account for the stiffness in his companion's muscles; Bard looked ready to fall over at any moment. Thranduil's concern for his physical well being was equally matched by apprehension over the reason for his sudden visit. Besides some utter calamity, Thranduil could not account for his being here. Yet there were more pressing matters to attend to first, and Thranduil chose a simple tunic and pair of breeches from his own wardrobe. He laid them out on the bed and then strode to stoke up the fire, marking the way that Bard's eyes trailed around the room as if he was trying to absorb every detail.

"These clothes should fit your frame," Thranduil said as he placed another log on the fire. "I can find you a better match in the morning, but for now they will suffice."

"Thank you." Bard slipped out of his coat, holding the sopping thing out for Thranduil to hang near the fire. His leather jerkin gave him more trouble, his stiff fingers struggling to undo the ties. Thranduil had retreated to give the man some privacy, but after a brief moment he heard Bard give a ragged sigh.

"My hands," he said weakly, holding them out in explanation. His fingers shook. "I may require some assistance. If you could call for someone—"

"No need." Thranduil stepped forward again, his fingers rising without hesitation to the buttons on Bard's jerkin. Bard stilled under his hands, eyes fixed on Thranduil's face as he undid each catch. Thranduil kept his own eyes on his work, moving slowly yet deliberately. And if he noted the way that Bard's tunic clung to his frame as the leather peeled away, or the flush of pink that showed through the soaking white fabric, it was merely a passing observation.

The last tie undone, Bard bobbed his head. "Thank you." Thranduil took a step back, but not a large one, as Bard shrugged off the leather and handed it over. It still felt warm in Thranduil's hands. He quickly turned to stride to the fire, hanging it beside the coat where it would dry.

When he turned around, Bard was already stripping off his tunic.

Thranduil could feel himself freeze, knew he was standing too still to pass as anything but enraptured, but he could not bring himself to move. Bard's stomach was taut as he pulled the shirt over his head, his ribs standing out against skin still shining with rainwater. His muscles tensed and shivered in the open air, broad shoulders held as tight as rope, the smooth expanse of his back knotted and strained. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, sending another spill of water droplets across Thranduil's floor, before looking up at last. Thranduil only barely managed to compose himself in time to meet the other man's gaze, closing his lips which had fallen open ever so slightly.

Bard held out the sopping wet tunic with an apologetic smile, eyes trailing on the growing puddle around him. "I fear I am ruining your floor."

"It is of little consequence." Thranduil accepted the wet shirt from Bard's hands. Their proximity was… intriguing. He allowed himself such an adjective because it was safe. The scars that wove pale lines over Bard's skin were merely an area of academic interest. The thatch of black hair descending from his navel to somewhere below his belt caught his eye for completely innocent reasons. And if his throat moved with a swallow, it was merely the growing heat in the room. From the fire, of course. Merely the fire.

"Will you require any more assistance?" Thranduil asked over his shoulder, his voice as level as a tightrope. He hung the shirt by the fire, careful not to touch it for any longer than would be deemed appropriate.

Bard's smile had twisted ruefully as Thranduil turned back to face him. There was an apology there, but there was also something else. Something inviting, yet wary all the same. "I would not wish to impose on you."

"And I would not wish for your wet clothes to weigh you into an early grave," Thranduil replied. He stepped close again, the rhythm of his coming and retreating as natural as the pull of the tides. Bard seemed to draw him in, the fabric of the dry tunic clutched in his hands, yet he had not yet moved to clothe himself. "You need only ask."

The uncertainty in Bard's eyes immediately swallowed whatever might have been there before. He looked away, and after a moment he tugged the new shirt down over his head. "Perhaps I should first disclose the reason of my visit."

Thranduil tilted his head. "Can it not wait until you are suitably warm and dry?"

Bard hesitated, but after a moment he gave a stiff nod. But instead of waiting for Thranduil to assist him, he bent down to remove his boots with short, stiff tugs.  Whatever had been pulling Thranduil towards him was gone, severed like a loose thread hanging forlornly between them. This time Thranduil turned to give him privacy, struggling to quash the twinge of disappointment in his chest. It was only when he heard a faint, pointed cough from behind him that he turned, to see Bard fully dressed in dry clothes, the laces done up clumsily, but well enough.

Thranduil could not deny that the sight of Bard wearing his clothing affected him. They fit well enough, perhaps too tight in the arms and too long around the ankles. Thranduil could not help but recall the silken feeling of those clothes as he had worn them, how Bard must be feeling them now.

This time, he was careful to allow no trace of his emotions slip through. He simply gestured to one of the chairs nearest to the fire, and waited for Bard to shuffle over and take a seat. His hair was still dripping, and had already begun to wet his collar. Though the clothes were elegantly tailored, on the man they looked ruffled and unruly, half done up and clinging to his damp skin.  Bard stretched his now-bare feet out towards the heat of the fire, his eyes closing for a moment as his toes curled. Thranduil used the opportunity to memorize every line and curve of him, sealing the image in his mind forever. He drank in the sight of him with a hunger that surprised even himself.

When Bard opened his eyes again, the tiredness had returned. "You have showed me great hospitality."

"It is no less than you deserve."

"And yet I cannot help but fear you will regret it when I tell you why I am here."

"There is nothing you could say to me that would make me wish you gone," Thranduil said, laying each word as carefully as brick and mortar. He wanted Bard to know that he meant them.

Bard did not so much as meet his gaze, his eyes locked on the dancing fire. It seemed to darken the circles under his eyes, harden the set of his mouth. Thranduil was reminded that Bard was not a young man—his cares wore on him like water on stone, carving deeper with every year. He wore his history on his skin, yet in this moment Bard looked as if he had been carved from stone.

"I have deceived you," he said at last. "Not directly, perhaps, but withholding the truth is merely a different shade of lie. I wish I had told you sooner. I wish there was nothing to tell."

Thranduil sat motionless, as if a stray breath would scatter the moment like leaves and send Bard fleeing back into the night. He could feel they were on the edge of something, dancing on a precipice with a yawning void below, but what lay on the other side was more frightening than the drop.

When Bard's eyes turned back to Thranduil's they were full of resolve. "Atrid asked me to marry her today."

Even the warmth of the fire couldn't stop the icy cold that washed over Thranduil's heart. He remembered the woman from his time spent in Dale, her kind smile and green eyes. The way her hand had lingered on Bard's arm without the other man brushing it away had left a bitter taste in Thranduil's mouth, but he had not expected an engagement. He forced himself to smile, though the expression felt stiff and stale on his face. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

Bard dragged a hand over his face. "They would be. If I had said yes."

Thranduil looked at him sharply. He bit down on the first words that came to his mind, giving himself a moment to unclench his fists. "I understand that would have been a very favorable match. She was quite beautiful, and had a kind heart."

Bard laughed hoarsely. "So you believe I should have accepted, then."

Thranduil's eyes strayed to the fire, fleeing from Bard's gaze. "I did not say that."

Silence stretched out between them. Thranduil resolutely kept his eyes averted, pretending to contemplate the flames. "She was very pretty," Bard said at last. A strange note hung in his voice. "And generous. I liked her very much. But I could not marry her."

"And why is that?" From the corner of his eye, Thranduil could see that the shakes wracking Bard's body had subsided in the warmth of the fire. The slight trembling in his limbs was from something else now.

"Thranduil, I—" Bard broke off, face twisting at the words that undoubtedly threatened to spill. Thranduil sat in silence, daring no sound or movement. For so long he had held himself back. For so long he had watched from afar. Yet he felt his grip was slipping even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair, as if he could wait no longer than the span of the sentence he so desperately needed to hear. Perhaps he had not dared to hope. Perhaps he had not let himself. When Bard met his eyes again he felt everything he had not let himself, and more.

"I owe you so much," Bard started again. "You may say that there is no debt between us, but I feel the weight of it whenever I am around you. You have done more than save my people, my kingdom. You—" Bard swallowed roughly, but his eyes did not dart away. "You have saved me—from a peril I did not know had almost overtaken me, which drained the color from the world and weighed on my heart like a stone. All of that is gone now, since I met you." He stumbled, eyes darting away. At once he was on his feet, pacing closer to the fire, the line of his shoulders fraught with tension. Every motion seemed tight and tense, as if he had forgotten how to move normally. He turned back to Thranduil, eyes downcast. When he began again, his words came in a flood.

"I know my feelings are inappropriate. At first I believed them to be harmless. But they have grown, every time I have seen you, until I could bear it no longer. I realized that I could not go another day without you knowing. It was too much for me." He pressed his hands to his face, his breath rough. A moment later he turned away. "I am sorry. I am weak. I came to beg your forgiveness, even if it is only for you to send me from your sight. I could not blame you for that."

Thranduil did not so much as move. His eyes had remained riveted to Bard's face, revealing nothing. Yet beneath his breast his heart pounded as it had not in such a long time, each beat coursing through his body like the dull roar of the waves. Bard half-turned away, his shoulders trembling faintly. He was just out of reach.

"Bard," Thranduil said with all the gentleness he could manage, "look at me."

After a pause, Bard slowly turned back to face him. His hands slid away from his face, revealing the exhaustion, the resignation, the pain. Who could say how long he had borne it. Thranduil rose slowly from his chair, walking with extreme care until he was standing before the other man. Bard watched him like a condemned man might study the blade of an axe.

"You have feelings for me." Thranduil stated it simply.

Bard had not looked away. "Yes." The word was rough, sharp-edged, scarcely more than a breath.

"These feelings are more than platonic."

"Yes."

"You believe them unrequited."

"Y—" Bard broke off, a line of confusion appearing on his brow. His lips were parted with unasked questions, the pain in his eyes turning into the faintest shade of understanding. Slowly, Thranduil raised a hand. The movement was deliberate, practiced, holding back by a mere thread. He rested it on Bard's arm, felt the tension in his muscles. Their gaze never broke.

"You find me attractive."

"Yes." Bard's voice broke on the word, the desperation claiming his eyes. Thranduil's hand slid up his arm, trailing across his shoulder to run fingers over his clavicle. The neck of his shirt had been laced only loosely—Thranduil's fingers brushed over the skin there, and he felt Bard's breath hitch.

"That you would think yourself unwanted…” Thranduil mused, the smile creeping over his lips a shade of the joy thumping in his chest. "Is folly." His fingers curled over the back of Bard's neck, sliding up into his thick hair still damp with the rain.

Bard’s eyes were trained on him, lids slightly lowered. “I need you to tell me clearly what you wish from me,” he said hoarsely. “No honeyed words. Merely the truth.”

“No words,” Thranduil murmured in agreement, as he pulled Bard to him. He cupped the man’s jaw in his hand, bringing their faces together with a slow yet firm hand. Bards eyes flickered closed a minute before their lips met, so softly they scarcely touched. Thranduil did not kiss Bard as he might have imagined it before, in the vague indulgent musings he would quickly push away. It was not artful, not controlled. He kissed Bard the only way he could—spontaneously, and with utter sincerity.  There was no sound but the faint crackling of flames, nothing between them but their lips lingering together, as still as the clouds just before a storm.

Thranduil pulled back, just far enough to open his eyes and look into Bard’s face. The other man wore an expression that could have been mistaken for pain, if it were not for the touch of a smile at his mouth. His eyes shone with joy and astonishment, so fiercely they almost burned. Thranduil did not prevent his own contentment from touching his features. He leaned their foreheads together, allowing his fingers to skim Bard’s cheek, feeling the roughness there, the damp of the rain.

“Do you understand now?” he said softly. At his words, he saw a fire in Bard’s eyes that kindled a heat in the pit of his own stomach.

Bard's lips were back on his own a moment later, the other man lunging forward to take Thranduil's face between his hands and crush their mouths together. He caught Thranduil up in a grip of iron, pressing careless kisses deep into his lips, fingers and stubble scraping on his skin. Thranduil's hand fisted in Bard's hair, causing the other man to give a sharp gasp before sinking his teeth into Thranduil's lower lip. His hands roved to Thranduil's shoulders, his chest, hooking around his back to grind their bodies together. Thranduil could feel his control slipping away as he felt the tension in Bard's body pressed to his own, the maddening dart of tongue across his lips that he chased with a groan of frustration.

"You need not have waited so long," Thranduil said between shuddering breaths, Bard's mouth roving across his jawline, down his neck. "We could have been doing this much sooner."

He felt Bard's teeth tugging roughly at the skin of his neck in response, earning a sharp cry for his efforts. "Now is not the time to tease me, Thranduil." His lips moved to Thranduil's ear, biting at the lobe, as his hands settled on his hips and yanked them tighter together.

"Is it not? It seems the—" Thranduil broke off as Bard began to move against him, his fingers digging in to Thranduil's hips to keep him still. "The perfect opportunity," Thranduil managed at last, his voice rough.

Bard's laughter was soft and dark against Thranduil's neck. The sound was enough to send his fingers digging into fists into Bard’s back. "If you knew how you made me feel, how long I've waited to do this… perhaps you would not be so flippant."

Thranduil rose a hand to pull Bard's head back by his hair, pressing kisses to his throat, his chin, his lips. The stubble there was unfamiliar, and exactly as he had never let himself imagine it. "I want to know. I want you to show me."

He grabbed Bard by the shoulders, deepening the kiss as he walked them backwards towards the bed, their legs tangling, not letting them fall until he could shove Bard down on his back. He lay there for a moment, his eyes drinking Thranduil in with a hunger the elf could never have hoped for. Slowly he slid his hands over Bard's stomach, rucking up the cloth there.

"Do you feel warmer now?" he whispered, lacing his fingers in Bard's and pressing them to the bed.

"Yes," Bard managed, his eyes fluttering shut as Thranduil moved against him.

The smile Thranduil pressed against the crook of his neck was full of promise. "Good. I think it's high time we got you back out of these clothes."

 

* * *

 

That morning Thranduil awoke slowly, faint light running light touches over his eyelids. As his gaze slid over the room, he saw the fire had burned down to nothing more than smoldering ashes, and the shadows were cool and blue. A stillness lay over him, contentment soaked deep to the bone. When he rolled over and brushed a hand over the steady heartbeat beside him, he could venture a guess as to why.

Bard had rolled to face away from him in sleep, displaying the broadness of his shoulders, the muscles of his back. Thranduil ran light fingers over the little marks, the dark speckles from the sun, the pale old scars. It would take him years to memorize the complexity of Bard’s skin, the ways in which life had left its mark on him. Thranduil would take every moment, and greedily so. He would study every inch of him until he could draw him behind closed eyes, or see him in the scattering of the stars.

He could tell the moment that Bard woke by the shift in his breathing, the way his heart began a faster beat. Thranduil pressed closer then, trailing a kiss over the side of his neck until he felt Bard’s hand reach up to cover his own. They lay in silence for a long while, feeling the push and pull of each other’s’ breathing, calm in the morning after the storm.

“I did not dare to hope,” Bard said at last, in a voice roughened by sleep. “I thought my feelings would offend you. That last night might be the last time I ever saw you.”

Thranduil was quiet for a while, eventually leaning to press his forehead into the crook of Bard’s neck, looping his other arm around the man’s waist. “Then you were a fool.”

Bard chuckled. Thranduil smiled against his shoulder, thumb moving in slow circles across Bard’s sternum. When Thranduil spoke next his voice was soft. “And I did not believe that you, who have come to know me better than I would have ever thought to allow you, could ever find anything appealing within me.”

Bard did not laugh at that. His fingers laced with Thranduil’s, binding them together with an intensity belied by the lightness of his voice. “Then it seems I’m not the only fool in this bed.”

Thranduil touched a kiss to the delicate skin beneath Bard’s ear. “It seems we are well suited for each other, then.”

Bard murmured in faint agreement. Thranduil could feel his breathing evening out, the pulse of his heart growing slow. They could lie here forever for all Thranduil cared. There would be other moments like this. Not enough of them, certainly, but he would make them worthwhile. But for now, he was happy. For now, all was right.

Far above, he could hear the faint trickle of a light rain trailing on the heels of the storm. It filled the forest with sweet, faint music. Thranduil breathed the clean morning air, settled himself closer to Bard, and lay awake listening to the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt on [my tumblr](http://curmudgeony.tumblr.com). If you have a request/prompt for a fic, hit me up! :)


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